


Mercy / Gatekeeper

by ros3bud009



Series: Wanna Be Missed [4]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Friends With Benefits, Jealousy, M/M, Rodimus and Optimus have Issues(tm) and Ratchet gets caught in the middle, Sexy Prime Powers, Smoking, talking about feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 15:31:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18524386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ros3bud009/pseuds/ros3bud009
Summary: Both Primes were watching him with too sharp optics and it made Ratchet’s plating feel itchy under their gazes.Something clicked in Ratchet’s processor that just didn’t seem plausible or even possible, but it continued to follow him out of the office, and then down the elevator, and then out the building. It lingered around his helm like the smoke of his cygar, swirling in his thoughts in wisps that no amount of hand-waving could dissipate.Slaggin’ Primes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You ever post from a WIP hoping that it will finally kick your ass out of a writer's block from hell?
> 
> This fic is set during the time that the Lost Light returned to Cybertron after the Overlord event and Drift's departure, but right before Megatron's trial. This one's gonna be less light-hearted than the previous fics in the series since Ratchet's peeved (for good reason), Rodimus is going through A Lot, and Optimus... well. But hopefully it's not too heavy???
> 
> Also, confession time: I haven't really read exrid so this Optimus is what I've pieced together from wiki reading, the couple of times he shows up in mtmte, and what I've seen floating around
> 
> Honestly, there's a lot of wiki reading and handwaving that was thrown into a blender, but I like what I've made for this AU, and hopefully you do too
> 
> Title from a Hayley Kiyoko song which is, tbh, peak sad Rodimus

“And Rodimus?”

Ratchet rolled his optics as he leaned across the balcony banister. The air wasn’t exactly fresh – not like in the shimmering but tattered memories he had of Cybertron as it once was – and it hardly mattered either way since he wasn’t an organic. But there was something refreshing to be found in not just ventilating the same air over and over and over again on a ship. There was character to Cybertron’s air; it was fresh in that it was new and ever charging.

But Optimus—

“You know, when I received an invitation from an old friend, I had expected some catching up,” Ratchet commented, casting his gaze to his periphery where Optimus stood next to him, back as straight as a ramrod. “Not a debriefing.”

That seemed to catch Optimus off-guard, and his frame finally shifted as his shoulders sunk a bit. It was something at least as he gave Ratchet a chagrinned look.

“Of course. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Ratchet said as he twisted so he was facing Optimus with one elbow on the banister. “You have a hard time turning off. That’s hardly news to me.”

Optimus nodded and stepped closer to Ratchet. One of his servos moved to rest on the banister.

“I suspect you know me better than I do these days.”

\--The air was fresh and new and changing, but Optimus seemed just the same.

Ratchet kept a frown at bay as he gave Optimus a light pat on the shoulder.

“Like I said, it’s fine. It’s not unusual to want to know what friends have been up to. And I imagine you, like the rest of Cybertron, have racked up a lot of questions about the Lost Light.”

Optimus gave another nod and a long ex-vent.

“It’s been one of my concerns, yes.”

“Well, stop being concerned about it,” Ratchet insisted. He snorted when Optimus turned to give him a bemused look, and continued, “It’s not your ship or your crew or your mission. It’s someone else’s concern, so stop worrying about it on his behalf, would you?”

Optimus’s optics flickered, considering, as if it had never occurred to him that something might not be his to worry about.

“Don’t give me that look. I mean it. This is Rodimus’s mess and he’ll figure it out or he won’t,” Ratchet insisted. His spark twisted when he thought about the captain as it had been prone to do since Rodimus’s admission about Overlord. Anger still simmered in his processor, and the vote and what that might entail lingered on the outskirts of his thoughts, but none of that was Optimus’s business.

Optimus didn’t look convinced. Ratchet ex-vented as he straightened, giving Optimus a stern look, asking, “Alright, fine, let’s just get it out and done with. Why do you care so much?”

There was a long pause as Optimus seemed to mull over his words. Then he finally rebooted his vocalizer and said, “I just have concerns about Rodimus’s ability to handle the demands of leadership.”

Ratchet narrowed his optics as he clarified, “You mean Rodimus _Prime_. One of the few other bots still kicking who was literally chosen by the Matrix of _Leadership.”_

Optimus frowned.                                                                                                                                                                          

“Being made a Prime doesn’t just make a mech into a good leader.”

“No,” Ratchet acknowledged, “it doesn’t. But you figured it out, didn’t you?”

Optimus’s hold on the banister tightened and his mouth was a hard thin line. He didn’t give any indication that he agreed.

Ratchet moved again, standing shoulder to shoulder with Optimus, and while Optimus was avoiding his gaze by looking out at the city, Ratchet’s optics were only for Optimus. His servo settled on Optimus’s wrist, and when it wasn’t rejected he squeezed comfortingly.

“You _did_ figure it out,” Ratchet stated resolutely, “and you’re continuing to figure it out as everything changes. And the same goes for Rodimus. He’s made his mistakes and those are hopefully lessons learned. Knowing that bullheaded glitch, he’ll make it work.”

Optimus’s face was still pinched.

“And what if he succumbs to the pressure?”

“He’s not some new forge, Optimus. He’s made his decisions and he’ll just have to face the consequences and figure it out from there.”

“But he’s still young.”

“Hardly,” Ratchet disagreed. “He was older when he became a Prime than you were, and had already done his fair share of leading before that. I mean, Primus, he’s practically contemporaries with _Megatron_ , and I don’t see you making any excuses about _his_ age.”

That had Optimus’s mouth snapping shut and twisting into a deep frown. He seemed to brood over whatever thoughts were swirling in his processor as he leaned forward against the banister, folding his arms on it. The action moved his servo from Ratchet’s, but when the medic took that to be a hint to remove it completely, Optimus reached out to grasp Ratchet’s wrist before he could pull it away.

“Optimus?” Ratchet pressed.

Optimus ex-vented heavily and shook his helm, replying, “It’s nothing. You’re right, as usual, Ratchet.”

Ratchet’s optics narrowed, hardly done when Optimus was clearly not saying _something_.

But behind them, beyond the balcony doors, was the sound of knocking before the office door promptly opened and Rodimus’s voice could be heard calling out, “Hey, Optimus, I heard you wanted to talk?”

Ratchet looked over his shoulder to see the captain strolling into the office, armor puffed up and wearing a smile on his face that was wide and fake, looking more like a mech trying to appear brave before a battle than one Prime simply checking in with another.

That smile took on a sharper twist when he saw Ratchet, optics over-bright as they flicked to where Optimus still held Ratchet’s wrist in the small space between them, back to Ratchet’s face, and then finally to Optimus.

“Or is this a bad time? Am I interrupting anything…?”

“No, I’m glad you could make it,” Optimus insisted, dropping Ratchet’s wrist as he moved to straighten and walk back into the office proper, all at once a Prime again. No weakness or much in the way of emotionality at all as he considered Rodimus, or even when he turned his helm to Ratchet as he said, “I apologize, Ratchet, but could you give us a moment?”

“Sure,” Ratchet replied. He kept a close optic on Optimus, even as he gave him an easy smile and patted him on the shoulder while passing him. “I picked up a cygar when we landed that I’ve yet to enjoy, so I’ll step outside to do just that. Take however long you need.”

“Thank you for understanding.”

Ratchet nodded and continued towards the office door, but not before giving Rodimus a small nod.

The captain’s face looked plastered on, only the servo that moved to grasp Ratchet’s wrist revealing anything about his emotional state.

“Just don’t get too attached to that cygar, alright? It’s bad enough there’s one Kup running around out there,” Rodimus joked awkwardly. It was far from his best work, but frankly circumstance wasn’t in Rodimus’s favor anyway.

Rodimus was damned lucky that, despite the tangle of muddled bitter feelings Ratchet’s mind was processing, his spark still pulsed hard for the Prime.

With a quiet ex-vent, Ratchet let his frame ease as he waved his servo dismissively. “You don’t have to worry about that. I’ve quit before and I’d do it again if need be. But I _do_ have a mean Kup impression I’ll have to pull out sometime.”

Rodimus made a face at that, seemingly horrified by the concept. It was the first hint of genuine unfiltered emotion to cross his face and Ratchet’s spark warmed without his input on the matter.

With a small pat to Rodimus’s shoulder with his free servo, Ratchet continued, “Don’t let me keep you.”

Rodimus nodded as he finally let Ratchet’s wrist go, and with one last pat Ratchet pulled away.

Optimus’s optics were narrowed when Ratchet turned to him to give one last word of parting; his mouth a tight line and his frame too stiff and too straight.

Both Primes were watching him with too sharp optics and it made Ratchet’s plating feel itchy under their gazes.

Something clicked in Ratchet’s processor that just didn’t seem plausible or even possible, but it continued to follow him out of the office, and then down the elevator, and then out the building. It lingered around his helm like the smoke of his cygar, swirling in his thoughts in wisps that no amount of hand-waving could dissipate.

Slaggin’ _Primes_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First we check in with our sweet sad boy. Next chapter we'll get to old sad boy.

“Ok but seriously, is it just an old mech thing?”

Ratchet glanced out of the corner of his optics as Rodimus flopped back against the wall as if it were a berth and not a vertical wall. His shoulder didn’t meet Ratchet’s.

There was a pause as Ratchet finished taking his drag, letting the smoke settle against his glossa before finally tipping his helm back to release it. He hadn’t expected much from the cheap cygar he picked up at the first random shop he’d stopped at in the marketplace, but the flavor wasn’t half-bad. It could almost be called smooth.

“Statistically? Yes. But I doubt you want to chitchat about cygar use across current age demographics, or Kup’s specific health issues,” Ratchet said as he turned his helm to look at Rodimus more fully, even if his frame was still leaned back against the wall.

Rodimus frowned a bit as his optics strayed.

“Yeah? And what _do_ you think I want to talk about?”

Ratchet dropped the servo holding the cygar, tapping it with one digit to shake away the thin layer of grey ash, and glanced around them. Despite being an important enough building, there wasn’t as large a crowd around as Ratchet might have expected. Certainly no one was paying any especially close attention to them.

“We could start with the fact that you were jealous back there.”

Rodimus’s plating pulled in close to his frame.

“Yeaaah, you’re definitely off your game, Ratch, because that’s literally the last thing I want to talk about right now.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I’m sure I could think of some worse topics,” Ratchet mused as he considered Rodimus’s profile. The Prime was pointedly staring out at the thin crowd making their way through the street.

Of all things, that got a hollow laugh out of Rodimus.

“Ok, yeah, you have me there,” Rodimus said, his shoulders curling forward slightly as he leaned even heavier against the wall. “Guess there’s a lot I don’t want to talk about these days.”

Ratchet waited to see if anything else was forthcoming, but Rodimus just continued to avoid his gaze and worry at his bottom lip.

With a heavy ex-vent, Ratchet said, “Listen, kid--”

“ _Don’t_.”

Ratchet startled a bit at the harsh tone and the bitterness in Rodimus’s optics before the Prime glanced away again.

“Just—just don’t call me that. Not right now.”

After a moment of just considering Rodimus’s expression, Ratchet nodded once.

“You ever smoke before, Rodimus?”

Rodimus glanced out of the corner of his optic at Ratchet, gaze following the medic’s servo as he lifted the cygar up to his mouth for a quick pull.

“Not since I was pretty young. Would have been back in Nyon,” Rodimus replied, tone closer to his usual except for how soft it was; wary, even. Not that Ratchet commented on it as he blew the smoke out from between his lips. “I only tried a couple times because I never really liked it much. Why wouldn’t you just get a drink or something?”

“Drinking is about forgetting,” Ratchet said, “either in an honest attempt to corrupt the memories or just momentarily ignore them for a while. And damn if engex isn’t great at doing its job.” Ratchet wiggled the cygar, momentarily catching Rodimus’s gaze again. “But for me, smoking is about thinking. It takes the edge off just enough that you can stand to look at those thoughts for a while.”

Rodimus didn’t look convinced, but his optics still brightened with curiosity when Ratchet held the out towards him.

“My point is that you could use a smoke.”

“I think I’d rather a drink,” Rodimus admitted with another humorless laugh, but still he reached out to take the offer. Their digits brushed as the cygar was passed. “I just suck it into my mouth, right?”

Ratchet couldn’t resist a sly look as he replied, “Like most good things, yes.”

Rodimus elbowed him.

“Dirty old mech.”

“And to think that I haven’t even started my Kup impression yet.”

“Seriously, the fact that you have one at all is the worst,” Rodimus said as he brought the cygar to his lips, pinching it awkwardly between his digits. His optics narrowed with concentration as he finally took a short puff off the cygar and grimaced. To his credit, Rodimus didn’t cough, just made a face before blowing it out quickly and smacking his lips like a mechanimal that had eaten something foul. “Although maybe not as terrifying as the fact that you like that. Gross.”

“Some mechs have to develop a taste for it,” Ratchet explained, noting that Rodimus didn’t immediately hand him the cygar back. “Couldn’t tell you what that’s like since I never had that issue.”

Rodimus hummed noncommittally, seemingly unconvinced. Still, he took another draw from the cygar, though judging by his expression he had braced himself this time for the taste. This drag he managed to let linger before he let it go.

“Yeah, well, take it from a mech who can produce his own flames – this is some bad tasting smoke,” Rodimus insisted. Ratchet just rolled his optics as he held out his servo.

“If you aren’t going to appreciate it, then give it back.”

Rodimus’s optics narrowed and instead of returning it he held it closer.

“I didn’t say I was done with it.”

He only managed a couple more drags before finally shaking his helm and handing it back. Ratchet took it with a roll of his optics.

“You know, you can go back up now. Optimus has been waiting since I left.”

“And he can continue to wait until I’m finished,” Ratchet replied evenly. Rodimus gaped a bit at him, and Ratchet couldn’t help a huff before he continued, “It won’t be the first time I’ve made him wait and it won’t be the last. We can’t all run on his schedule.”

After a moment, Rodimus snorted and shook his helm.

“Well, if there’s one thing Optimus is good at, it’s waiting around for something to happen,” Rodimus joked, and there was no denying the hint of bitterness in it.

It was unsurprising Rodimus felt that way. Truthfully, Rodimus was just one of many mechs to hold the opinion that Optimus could be slow to action as a leader. The only thing that put Rodimus above his fellow action-oriented mechs was that he was brash enough to actually do something about it, and did so on multiple occasions.

A moment passed when Ratchet didn’t reply or give much of a response at all to the comment. He just quietly smoked while Rodimus shifted on his pedes next to him.

“You know he worries about you, right?”

Rodimus finally looked at his face fully, his features twisted with bewilderment.

“Uh, no? You’re talking about Optimus, right?”

“Obviously,” Ratchet replied as he resisted rolling his optics yet again.

There was a beat before Rodimus asked, “As in he worries about what kinda scrap I’m going to pull out there?”

“‘Going to’?” Ratchet asked sardonically, and despite the regret borne in his spark when Rodimus’s plating clamped in tight, it stroked his petty side to make the jab. He deserved it. Instead of giving Rodimus chance to reply, Ratchet just continued, “And no, I mean what I said. He worries about _you_. Personally.”

Rodimus’s optics flickered, though his face only screwed up tighter in confusion.

“I think you’re confusing me for someone else, Ratch. I don’t think Optimus even likes me much these days, let alone cares enough to worry.”

Ratchet could feel his face pinch as he asked, “You don’t think he _likes_ you?”

With a small shrug, Rodimus’s pedes shifted until his weight was on just one and the other could scrape against the ground.

“Nah. I mean, honestly, does _anyone_ at this point?” The Prime didn’t give Ratchet even a moment to respond, waving his servo dismissively as he pushed on, “Look, don’t answer that. With Optimus, it’s not—it’s not _bad_ between us.” Rodimus spoke just loudly enough that Ratchet could hear him but the words wouldn’t travel much further. “I _do_ have a lot of respect for him, no matter what anybody says.”

“I wasn’t suggesting you didn’t.”

Rodimus nodded, but continued, “Yeah, well, some mechs do since we’ve had our pretty big disagreements, you know?”

“If that’s all it takes then Primus knows I apparently have no respect for him,” Ratchet said with a snort.

“You never went full AWOL though.”

“Not to the extremes you ever have, no. But I assure you Optimus and I have had our fair share of knock-out, drag-out fights.” When Rodimus still looked disbelieving, Ratchet tipped the cygar towards him and said, “When he decided to start manufacturing M.T.O.s despite my opinions on the matter, I socked him in the jaw and barely spoke to him for a full decade.”

Rodimus considered him for a long moment, optics wide, likely surprised by the admission. Not many mecha knew about the rift that had formed between the Prime and his CMO, or at least no one that didn’t need to know about it.

“Right,” Rodimus finally settled on, and Ratchet was in turn surprised to see a small curl of Rodimus’s lips. “So you get it. It’s not about the disagreements we have, really. I can handle a disagreement.”

This time Ratchet didn’t need to say a word as he held the cygar out and Rodimus took it. He took a longer drag this time before he spoke, the smoke curling out from his lips with the words.

“When Optimus officially called me Rodimus Prime, it felt important. Like I had finally managed to make somebody of myself in his optics. I mean, _Optimus Prime_ was proud of _me_.” Rodimus fiddled with the cygar between his digits, his optics dimming as he watched it. “Sure, I knew things would still be weird sometimes, because there was no way we were done having arguments. There were just things we’d never agree on. But Optimus was always nice enough, and seemed like he cared, and I dunno. I just figured that if anything, being a Prime would make things better. Like, we might better understand each other since we share this totally wild experience. But instead it – it got weird.”

Ratchet let Rodimus think for a moment, collecting his thoughts, mulling over his words.

“I don’t think he likes that I’m a Prime,” Rodimus finally admitted as his shoulders slumped. He spun the cygar in his servo absently.  “Haven’t figured out why, but it just – he became more distant. Colder. And everything I’ve done since the war ended seems to have only made him weirder. It’s like – Primus, I don’t think there’s anything I can do that won’t disappoint him somehow. I’m so fragging sick of him _frowning_ at me all the time.”

The fiddling of his digits finally focused on the task of bringing the cygar back to Rodimus’s lips, and this time he took a long, deep pull. Too deep, considering the way the Prime finally sputtered with a cough, vents wide open to dump the smoke out in bursts. Ratchet reached up to pat Rodimus on the back and even gave Rodimus the decency to not mention the way the Prime leaned into it as he stole a quick glance at Ratchet before looking away again. He looked embarrassed as held the cygar out to Ratchet.

Ratchet lifted his servo from Rodimus’s shoulder to take the offer.

“Well, Rodimus, I don’t know what to tell you besides what I know,” Ratchet said. “Regardless of how he apparently acts around you, the fact is he does worry. He wants you to succeed.”

Rodimus still looked disbelieving, but he didn’t argue the point. He stood there slowly stilling his vents so they evened out.

“Anything else you’re willing to get off your chest now?”

That got Ratchet an audible groan as Rodimus’s optics offlined and his helm knocked back against the wall.

“ _Primus_ , Ratch – alright, you know what? Fine. I’m just letting everything hang out these days anyway,” he relented begrudgingly with servos flung out before him. “Yes, ok, you’re right. I was jealous. I saw you two cozying up and got jealous. But it’s not –let me make it clear that I get what this is between us. Or--” Rodimus’s optics onlined and he stole a glance at Ratchet, his mouth twisting as guilt crossed his expression. “—Or _was_ , or whatever. Friends with benefits. And that’s cool, I’m fine with that, that’s what I wanted. It’s, uh, well honestly? I think it’s just specifically because it’s Optimus.”

Ratchet watched Rodimus’s face closely as he pressed, “Because of the issues between the two of you.”

With a frown, Rodimus made a vague gesture. “I mean, I wouldn’t say ‘issues’ but – yeah, I guess. I can’t _not_ feel compared with him, so sharing with him is complicated. It’s one thing for it to be in the past, but it’s something else to see it happening in front of my optics.” Rodimus cycled a ventilation before giving a small shake of his helm, looking as if he was in disbelief as he said, “Also, serious question, you sure you didn’t lace that cygar with some actual drugs, because apparently I cannot keep my mouth shut.”

“Just the usual cygar ingredients. If you had wanted something stronger, Drift would have been the one to ask.”

Rodimus grimaced like he had been stricken, and Ratchet could no longer deny to himself that the guilt that roiled in his chest with every jab he made at the captain wasn’t just born from his traitorous spark anymore.

“Well, anyway, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be jealous, whatever the reason,” Rodimus apologized, helm bent until his chin nearly met his chest, optics dim. “And Primus knows I’m sorry about Drift, and Pipes and Rewind, and just – all of it.” The Prime scrubbed at his face with a weary ex-vent and for once all the years of Rodimus’s life were easy to read in the deeply furrowed lines around his tightly pressed mouth. Every line and angle of Rodimus’s frame screamed his guilt.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured again, and this time Ratchet suspected it wasn’t just for him.

It didn’t fix the Prime’s mistakes.

But it did loosen the tangle of Ratchet’s spark.

“I know,” Ratchet said reassuringly, noting the edge to his voice he’d held from the beginning was finally waning. The quick flash of Rodimus’s optics glancing at him in surprise only endeared him more. “For what it’s worth, I think we’ll frag again eventually, if you’re still up for it.”

Rodimus’s optics blew out wide at that.

“What?”

“I can’t imagine a better time to pull out my Kup impression.”

Rodimus’s face twisted, torn between startled humor and the shame that had been choking him, and the way his laugh sounded too much like a repressed sob spoke volumes.

“That’s so fragging sick,” Rodimus complained with humor. But it was there and gone almost as fast. “But seriously? I mean, are we – do you even consider me a friend at this point?”

Smoke swirled from between Ratchet’s lips as he shrugged and replied easily, “Sure I do.”

Rodimus finally moved from where he had been slumped against the wall, straightening as he looked at Ratchet like he had admitted to something far more blasphemous than friendship. “But – but you’re fragged off at me, aren’t you? I mean, you have every right to – you _should_ be--”

“Oh, I am,” Ratchet stated, flicking the cygar to dump the ash before pointing it at Rodimus and giving him a stern look. “Believe me, Rodimus, you have some serious work to do to fix this slag.”

“I know that.” Rodimus’s servo pressed against the symbol above his spark and clenched as he frowned. “ _You_ believe _me_ when I say I know. But I also don’t expect you to forgive me. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t.”

“That’s well and good, but I’m going to.”

“But if you don’t--”

“Listen,” Ratchet interrupted, pointing the cygar even closer to Rodimus’s face, nearly threatening, “I’ve been stuck with myself long enough to know how I tick, Rodimus. The fact that I’m even considering it at all means I’ll move on eventually as long as you stop fragging it up.”

“But--”

“ _Rodimus_.”

Finally, Rodimus’s mouth snapped shut, though he didn’t look the least bit convinced. The guilt was palpable as it came off him in waves, and dammit all, Ratchet knew that look; the almost belligerent shame of a mech who didn’t believe they deserved forgiveness, who would react to all attempts by pushing back, pushing away.

It was a feeling Ratchet knew all too personally, inside and out.

Ratchet took a quick pull from his cygar like a mech would throw back a shot, shaking his helm before meeting and holding Rodimus’s gaze.

“Have you already forgotten what I just said about refusing to speak to Optimus for a _decade_ after punching him in the fragging mouth?” Rodimus’s optics went appropriately wide and Ratchet’s lips pulled into an almost pained grin. “I was _livid_. I _still_ get the temptation to start that fight back up again because I’ve never been able to forgive him for it. But dammit, he’s still my friend, and eventually the day came that I talked to him again and now here we are.”

Ratchet moved off the wall so his whole frame finally faced Rodimus, one servo on his hip while the other gestured towards Rodimus, cygar leaving a thin trail behind as he moved it.

“So _yes_ , Rodimus, I can say with near certainty that as long as you clean up your mess and face the consequences of your actions, we’re still friends.”

Rodimus went completely still, his ventilations stalled and his expression frozen in shock. The only thing that changed was the way his optics flickered as if on the verge of leaking cleanser.

It didn’t come to that though. Rodimus finally shook himself, optics tearing away from Ratchet’s as he rebooted them and his mouth twisted into a small relieved smile.

“Well, uh, thanks. I was really going to miss fragging you,” Rodimus joked, and Ratchet let his optics roll up in exasperation just to hear Rodimus’s vents wheeze with a quiet snorting laugh.


End file.
